If I go, I'm going
by satan-chillin
Summary: After dealing with Chuck, Rowena is bound for a quick return in Hell. Sam understands, but it doesn't mean that he likes it.


Title is from the same song title by Gregory Alan Isakov because his music can touch the soul. Do try out his songs if you're not familiar with him.

* * *

"So what now?"

"A little too young to have an existential question, Samuel."

"I think I'm entitled to have one after putting away God for good," Sam inputs, looking at his glass of scotch like it's the most delectable thing in the world. He doesn't often imbibe, and it's amazing how some things are put into perspective after another world-ending catastrophe, which is hopefully the last.

Rowena snorts delicately. "I suppose you are."

"So what now?" Sam tries again, keeping his tone casual like he isn't fishing for a definitive answer. "Are you going back to Hell?"

"The queen has been away for too long," she says with a sigh. "Down there, I've been away for roughly a decade."

Sam understands. The demons fear her, but, well, it's _Hell_. There are bound to be plotting and scheming when the ruler's back is turned. Rowena is a new ruler, and while she's able to keep them straight under her leadership, there's still instability. Rowena has bigger responsibilities now, and Sam is glad that she's able to find her purpose after death. It's kind of poetic, in a way.

And it also means that Sam won't be seeing her again for a very long time and if there's no dire need for it, probably never in his human life ever again.

He understands, but it doesn't mean that he likes it.

"Do you have to?" Sam asks, unbidden by his tongue loosened by alcohol because fuck it. He won't get this chance again. "I mean, not so soon, or anything."

Rowena blinks up at him with mild surprise before she smirks with a quirked-up brow. "Careful, Samuel, or I'll think that you don't want me to go."

"Of course I don't," he says honestly. "You have friends who would rather have you here. _I _would rather you be here with us." _With me. _

Her expression morphs into a wistful and soft fondness that Sam doesn't often associate with her. He knows he got her thinking, and for a moment, he thinks she's reconsidering.

"That's touching," she says, meaning it. She never had friends before who cared for someone like her. It's new to be the receiving end of this kind of affection. "But you know that I can't. I... no longer have a reason to be here, Samuel. I'm just a damned soul walking about here on earth."

"You're not 'just a damned soul' to me, Rowena," Sam says, pleading and with a note of desperation in his tone. "If it's a reason that you want, I can give you one." He lets his free hand find hers, and he's emboldened by more than just the scotch.

"Pretty words, Samuel," she murmurs, and Rowena stares at their joined fingers with wonder and awe and sadness. She doesn't break the connection, but she bites her lip, her hesitance clear now. "But I'm not worth it, Sam." Her eyes flit somewhere past him, to the rest of the others who got it this far. Dean, Cas, Jack, Jody, Donna, Claire, Eileen... "She is."

Sam knows without looking who Rowena is pertaining to, and he supposes that's something he should have expected. He's not above admitting that he entertained the notion of moving on with another person who was there in the flesh, someone who fits in the right places where it matters the most. He had seen himself loving her and being with her for a long time.

But there's something else that's missing. There always _is, _and it took him this long to realize what it is because, for all his intellect, Sam is slow when it comes to the matter of the heart.

"She's not you," he whispers, and he leans down to touch her forehead with his. "No one is like you, Rowena."

Sam hears her huffing out a small laugh, and her eyes flutter close to savor the moment. The brief time his eyes are closed, she smiles wanly and stares at Sam like she's memorizing his face.

Rowena thought she already knew all her regrets in life, but it turns out that she missed one particular thing.

"It won't be easy," she tells him.

"Nothing ever is."

"It'll take time."

"I'll wait."

"It might be impossible."

Sam thumbs her cheeks tenderly. "Then we have work cut out for us."

* * *

Sam wakes alone, the sheets cold and with a piece of paper left out on the other side of the bed.

He reads the elegant penmanship and despite his dismay that he did not wake a little earlier, he smiles to himself either way.

He tucks the paper in his wallet and keeps it with him.

* * *

Some months later, he explains to Dean the situation. His brother might be a little concerned for him, but Dean's not surprised. Not really.

Besides, if Sam's to get a lecture on the waiting game, he'd rather not hear it from Dean who's unknowingly notorious at it that even an angel with a lesser grasp in humanity wasn't able to bear all that tension between them and decided one day that if he didn't make a decision, Dean would never make a move and remain firmly in place.

All's good between Dean and Cas now, and Sam was one of the people who thought _fucking finally_.

There's not much difference in the days that followed after the God incident, and it's probably a testament that Chuck had abandoned this world for too long that it learned how to exist on its own, God or no God.

Between the hunting and the training of newbies, time pretty much drifts past Sam. Next thing he and his brother know, Claire is a little taller, her face shedding all that baby fats; Jack is more articulate and understands random pop culture references now due to Charlie's influence and the internet; Donna and Jody are together now, apparently, because it's a long time coming, they said, and they weren't planning to be like Dean and Cas who couldn't get their shit together; Bobby has been frequently around the bunker as well and with him the growing population of future hunters who possess more arsenal in terms of firepower and knowledge.

Sam waits patiently as he watches the legacy he and his brother are building, and he knows that sometimes it seems to Dean that Sam is waiting for something that will never come, or in this case, come back.

Sam knows too that while Dean is supportive of Sam's choice in his own way, Dean is also threading that line of telling Sam to let it go, let Rowena go, and move on lest Sam missed out in his life.

Sam is patient, and he's aware that if it's Dean in his position and it concerns Cas, he'll be doing the same thing.

Half a year passes, and Sam still waits.

He meets up with Eileen sometimes, and she has this cozy place over the next town that she has been calling home. They catch up, often through texts or skype, and he's happy that she's fully acclimated now after her death of two years. She's a great woman and a great friend, and they understand each other's experiences in Hell. They are each other's family and they love each other the same way Sam loves his brother, Cas, Jack, and Sam thinks that it's as strong as any form of relationship they might have possibly developed before.

At their Year-End get-together, Eileen brings Gregory with her, and after knowing the guy and seeing him making her laugh and complete each other's sentences, Sam couldn't think of anyone else who's suited for someone like Eileen.

The year passes, and Sam still waits.

He lies awake at night with Rowena in his mind, and he wakes up thinking of her the next day. He often finds himself thumbing that yellowing paper that he never removes from his wallet. He keeps it as a promise of her return, and Sam will keep holding on to it until she comes back.

Sam spends most of his time studying her journals, and while it might seem that Rowena only studied the most vicious of spells and cruel hexes, Sam can read between the lines as well and recognizes her efforts in trying to do good with her magic. Sam will discover an effective but protection spell here, a versatile curing spell there.

Only when he truly settled down on a table to study all her journals did Sam learn the nuances that are Rowena MacLeod: for example, she likes writing on the edges of pages with random words, mostly foreign tongue, but for someone who's organized and tidy, it's a fascinating discovery for Sam.

Occasionally, there are small post-it notes that he finds attached to the last couple of pages, often they're lists of ingredients or grocery items. Heck, Sam even discovers that there's a potion that can be made with condiments and he remembers chuckling at the thought of Rowena in a supermarket and being mistaken as a woman who likes cooking. Oh, she does, alright, but it won't be food.

The more Sam discovers the little things about her, the more he misses her. It'll be easy to give up, convince himself that she never gave a sign that she'll come back anyway so why bother at all? Besides, she also told him that it would be impossible as if she knew right there and then that it would be hopeless for both of them.

But Sam recalled that night and the time he spent with her before she left. Under the dim light of his room, her eyes never said _We aren't going to make it, are we? _

What Sam saw that night was _Wait for me, and I'll come back for you, to you. _

It's enough for Sam to keep going.

* * *

It's in the middle of June in Minnesota when Sam finds himself in a rather classy bar after a solo hunt. The place isn't one he would be caught setting foot on, but he has a good feeling tonight, the kind of pleasant buzz that's not only from a satisfying win.

He lets the anticipation grow in him. He's like a child awaiting Christmas to open the presents, and in a way, he's waiting for the greatest present of all.

She lets her presence be known through the smell of lavender and raspberries. When Sam turns to the seat to his right, she's right there in a lilac dress that enhances the fire of her hair flowing on her back and makes the green of her eyes prominent.

Rowena is the most beautiful thing he ever laid his eyes on, and Sam's not embarrassed to let his reverence show.

Her red lips move to a familiar demure smile alight with fondness. "What's a handsome man like you doing in a place like this?"

"Waiting for someone," Sam humors her.

"Och. Terribly rude of that person to leave a lad like you alone."

"I don't mind," Sam says. "What's an hour to a year and a half of wait?"

Her face softens. "Lucky lass."

"Nah. I'm luckier because I believe she just gave up her throne for someone like me."

"Well, you sell yourself short. She must have thought you're worth a thousand—nay, a million of her subjects and a single uncomfortably hard chair."

Sam grinned. "If you put it that way, then I don't blame her." He reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I've missed you."

"Me too, Samuel. Me too." She leans against his hand, turning her cheek to kiss his palm. "I've made it. It took a long time, but I made it."

"You did," Sam agrees. "And I think we'll make it this time."

"We will, dear," Rowena promises. "We will."

They'll make sure of it.

* * *

_**fin**_


End file.
